


How To Parent Your Adult Killer Robot

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 2 RK800's too many, Connor is a cinnamon roll, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hank curses himself blue, Jack - the millennial sent by Cyberlife, Jack is a cinnamon roll, Protective Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, These two android's don't know what they're doing - a fanfic, Wholesome af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 06:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: Connor invites his first friend over to his home.Hank tries not to regret allowing this.





	1. Part 1 – In Which We Begin by Calming Your Connor

Hank had seen his reflection in many surfaces, as most people do. Nothing unusual about that. He’d seen it in mirrors, he’d seen it in camera phones, he’d seen it in slimy puddles that had collected on Detroit’s many curbs outside of their many bars.

 

However, he had never seen his reflection in his own kitchen floor before.

 

Not when he first bought the house, and certainly not since then. Which was fine. Hank was a man of simple desires. The only requirement he had of the floor in his kitchen was that it exist and maybe he could eat a few barbeque chips off it without any fear of poisoning.

 

Now he could probably eat a whole fucking lasagna off of it with no problem.

 

There wasn’t a lot that could revert his old floor to its near perfect factory state, and since he didn’t own a rotary buffer, this could only be the work of his over enthusiastic android friend/brother/son.

 

“Excuse me Hank,” the aforementioned android said as he bustled past him.

 

Hank tore his eyes away from kitchen-floor-Hank (who had somehow managed to look presentable with his silver hair combed back into a ponytail and a trimmed beard at the ungodly hour of 10AM) and focused on Connor.

 

The state-of-the-art detective android had crossed the living room and was currently brushing a corner of the ceiling with a broom. He was garbed in a full-on janitors jumpsuit (where when and how the fuck), complete with a scarf tied over his head - the little curl that refused to stay combed back poking out. To anyone else nothing would seem too out of the ordinary (other than the janitor get-up maybe). But Hank noticed the barely there _jerk_ to Connor’s movements as he furiously combatted dust that only the android could see, and the very faint flashes of yellow interrupting the otherwise steady blue of Connor’s LED. This was usually a sign of fatigue...fatigue Connor was trying to hide at that.

 

Which meant, Hank concluded, that Connor had probably been at this manic cleaning gig since he’d asked if it was alright to have his friend come visit him from Glendale. Which was five days ago.

 

Generally, this wouldn’t be anything to fuss about either. An android cleaning for five days straight was well within your average android’s capabilities, least of all for someone as advanced as Connor.

 

But Connor had also been to work this entire week, and a grueling work week it had been. Which meant he had been working _and_ cleaning for five days straight, and more than likely pretending to go into Rest Mode at night in a misguided attempt to keep Hank from worrying.

 

No, wait. Androids went into Stasis when they were sleeping. Rest Mode was a different thing.

 

Stasis. LEDs. Fuckin’ A. If anyone had told Hank a year ago he would not only know a thing or two about android components, let alone give enough of a shit about an android to learn about them, he’d tell that person to go fuck themselves inside out.

 

He would then proceed to finish the beer he was most likely drinking, and pop the offender on the head with the empty bottle for their very incorrect insinuation.

 

Yeah. He wasn’t too proud of that Hank.

 

“ _Connor_ ,” Hank barked when it appeared that Connor wasn’t going to stop until he broomed a hole right into his ceiling.

 

He turned his head towards Hank (of course it was only his head, the creepy bastard). Far from slowing him down, his goal to broom a hole in the ceiling seemed to intensify. “Yes Hank? Do you require assistance?”

 

Yeesh. It was worse than he thought. The more exhausted Connor was the more he sounded like a functional Alexa. “Yeah. I want you to cut that shit out and relax for a minute.”

 

His LED circled yellow for three whole turns. White paint from the ceiling sprinkled down and dusted his scarf. “But Hank, my friend is due to arrive in approximately 4 hours 32 minutes and 43 seconds, and I still haven’t put a second coat on the fence yet.”

 

Put a second what on the what -

 

Hank whipped his head around to look out the kitchen window. The fence in the backyard, colored a faded puke green and being held together by hopes and dreams alone just last night, was now fixed up as good as new, painted a cheery mahogany brown with a black stylized tree decorating it.

 

“When the hell did you do all that?”

 

“At 2:03 this morning. By my calculations the paint should have dried completely 2 hours ago and is ready for the finishing coat - ”

 

“Yeah. Alright. Enough of that. Come’re, before you install a damn sunroof.”

 

Connor frowned. “Sun - ” He turned his attention to the ceiling corner that looked like someone had taken a sand blaster to it. His LED cycled red and yellow in alarm before finally settling on yellow. “Oh. Sorry Hank.”

 

“It’s fine. Just get over here and sit down. The house is clean enough. It was clean enough three days ago.”

 

Without further protest, Connor set the broom down and made his way to the kitchen table. Hank met him there and slid over a mug of thirium.

 

Connor smiled sheepishly. He didn’t put up any bullshit protest about his “thirium levels being optimal” thankfully. Otherwise Hank didn’t know if he could hold himself back from smacking the android upside the head. “How did you know I was running low?”

 

Hank shrugged, plopping down in the chair across from him. “My deduction skills ain’t complete shit, kid.” He took a pointed sip from his cup of coffee. It was a standard ceramic white mug that Connor had gotten him for his birthday last year. The bold black print text on it read:

 

**#1 Best Dad. 10/10 Would Buy Again.**

 

He had a good laugh when he opened it, assured the fretting android that ‘ _no this is great Con_ ’ and ‘ _no you ain’t being too presumptuous do I look like the type to give a fuck about presumption - shut up I know what I said_ ’ _..._

 

Did not get choked up later on and proceeded to only drink coffee out of that mug since then...

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, sipping at their respective fuel sources. Connor closed his eyes and let out an unneeded sigh into his mug like a parody of a coffee commercial. Hank noticed that his LED was now only flashing yellow at a slower rate than earlier, which could mean anything from his thirium levels still being low to exhaustion to a hairpin stuck in bicomponent number something something.

 

It was times like this that Hank wished he’d downloaded that app that monitored an android’s health status. Some people might argue that it was an invasion of privacy. He bet those people didn’t have an android partner that had legitimately fallen from an eight story building into a truck full of nails.

 

But whatever don’t be a helicopter parent or some shit.

 

“I should still at least give the floors one last sweep,” Connor said absently as he scanned the room, probably finding some micro atoms he forgot to scrub.

 

Hank gave him the deadpan stare that statement deserved. “And why exactly are you trying to sterilize the house? It’s not like androids can get dust allergies, right?”

 

“No I...I just want to make a good impression. I’ve never had a friend visit me before.”

 

“Well, a _good_ friend won’t care if you’ve shined the ceiling or if the gutters are cleaned - ” Connor perked up at that. Hank held a hand up before he could launch into how he had executed those tasks 30 minutes ago because of course he did. “Tidying up a bit is just fine. All this,” he gestured with his mug at the spotless room, “is extra.”

 

“Mmm.” Connor slumped a little in the chair, looking into his thirium in thought. “You are the greatest friend I know Hank, so I suppose you would know more about appropriate friendship interactions then I would,” he said matter of factly. “I concede to your expertise.”

 

Huh. Well that was all wrong and untrue, but if it got the kid to settle down then fuck it. Job well done. Hank grunted and took a big gulp of his coffee. If the cup obscured his expression than that was fine too. He needed a break from looking at that goofy face anyways.

 

Fucking. Sappy. Androids.

 

“Listen, why don’t you go into stasis on the couch for a bit? If your friend comes before your alarm goes off, I’ll wake you up.”

 

When Connor frowned and gave a concerned glance around the space again, Hank added, “ _And_ I’ll take care of whatever you have left to do.”

 

“Oh no, Hank!” Connor suddenly burst out hurriedly. “I just need to take out the trash and put some of the dishes away.”

 

Bull fucking shit Mr. I need to repaint the fucking fence. “I think I can manage that much.”

 

Connor hesitated for a little longer. Once upon a time he would have been insulted by that, assuming Connor didn’t think a pathetic old human like him could handle such simple tasks.  Now he knew it was just one of the ways the kid showed he cared...mixed with some weird complex about not being a burden. Who knew that the same guy who could take out an entire SWAT team with his bare hands would develop such a humble, self deprecating personality.

 

“I suppose I could take some time to process a few backlogged commands - ”

 

“ _Stasis_ , Connor. Go. Into. Stasis.”

 

Connor’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the use of android specific terminology. He then smiled like Hank had announced that they could adopt ten puppies today. He always got ridiculously happy whenever Hank showed he knew a few things about how androids worked, as if it weren’t just plain basic decency after living with someone for a year.

 

“Ok Hank. But only for 2 hours!”

 

“Yea yea sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	2. Part 2 – The Mysterious Friend

Connor shuffled over to the couch and sat down. Instead of sitting up ramrod straight, he took the time to lean back into the cushions and close his eyes, looking about as relaxed as a sentient being made of plastimetal could. It was certainly light years less disconcerting than when he used to stand in the corner, or the closet, or just some general out of the way place like a goddamn mop.

 

Gulping down the last of his coffee, Hank set about completing Conner’s self-imposed chores. The fork in the sink took maybe a millisecond to wipe down. There was a single napkin in the garbage can. For that, Hank went the extra mile and switched the whole can with the one under the sink. 

 

Phew! What a whirlwind of activity! Better take a break before his old bones collapsed from exhaustion.

 

He sank down on the recliner and turned the T.V. on. He looked to the (for all intents and purposes) sleeping android, who now had Sumo napping with him in his lap. His LED was glowing a steady, light blue, which proved Hank’s theory that it was low thirium  _ and  _ sleep deprivation that was the issue.

 

That, and being a stubborn ass that didn’t know his limits.

 

Granted, Hank supposed he couldn’t begrudge him his excitement, even though begrudging was a part of Hanks balanced breakfast. Connor was not exaggerating when he said he’d never had a friend over to the house before. Everyone on the force, while they’d certainly learned to trust and value him as an important team member these days, were acquaintances at best, and humans outside of the job weren’t exactly chummy with the police in the first place, let alone high-profile android ones. In the case of other androids...fuck. That was a whole entire shit show of annoying. A lot of them (stupidly, in Hank’s humble opinion) still held a grudge against him for being the  _ Deviant Hunter _ (cue the thunder and lightning). What did it matter that Connor had been a slave to his programming just as much as the next Joe Android on the street, and that the very second he was free to think for himself he chose to go on a suicide mission that ended up turning the tide in the android revolution? Nope, who cares. CyberLife had created him to hunt deviants and must therefore be ostracized forever.

 

Apparently being an ingracious fuck hole blinded by fear and prejudice wasn’t just a human trait. Good to know!

 

So that pretty much left Markus, Sumo, and Hank as Connor’s only friends. Now, this wasn’t a bad thing per se. Markus was a stand-up fucking guy all around, and whenever their busy schedules allowed it the two RK models seemed to have a great time together. But being the leader of a new species unfortunately made those times very few and far between. Sumo was a dog. A fantastic dog, but not exactly someone you could hang out at a bar with, or debate the legitimacy of simulated versus biochemical emotions - or whatever the fuck Connor did in his spare time. And as for Hank well...of course he cared about the kid! He’d always be there for him whether it was on or off the field. Connor was like a...fuckin’, ya know...

 

Anyway. It wasn’t like Connor seemed too torn up about his short list of friends. He had explained at various unprompted times and in embarrassing detail how amazing they were and how glad he was to have the three of them in his life. But Hank couldn’t help but feel that Connor deserved more than that. He was a good kid. A  _ great  _ kid. With more fucking heart and compassion than a majority of the people he had met in his too damn long life. And... _ fine _ ..fuck it. Maybe he was being an overprotective dad about the whole thing, but he just wanted Connor to be happy.

 

Which was why he hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to have Connor’s friend stay at their house during the android’s first ever week of vacation.

 

Although, now that he had time to think about it, Hank wondered if he was a little hasty in his decision. Connor had never met this android in person - they’d been communicating solely by wireless interface and online video chats for the past few months. Other than that, the only thing Hank knew about him was that he was a European edition of the RK800 model.

 

_ “I thought you said CyberLife didn’t make any other versions of your model to like, make the brain transfer easier if you ever....ah...died.” _

 

_ “Correct,” Connor said, thankfully not commenting on Hank’s stutter over the word ‘died’ (what was he, a rookie? Jesus). “However, Jack was designed by iDroid Incorporated, a smaller android and electronics company located in Brighton.” _

 

_ “Really? CyberLife don’t seem like the type of company to go around sharing the designs of their super special top of the line products - no offense.” _

 

_ “It’s fine. I did tell you I was worth more than several of your paychecks could cover.” Connor grinned good naturedly. “Much like with various other models, I imagine that portions of my schematics were most likely leaked to rival companies, despite CyberLife’s attempt to prevent otherwise.” _

 

_ “So...what? This guy is the bootleg version of you?” _

 

_ Connor rolled his eyes. “That holds more negative connotations than I would want to associate with my friend but yes, essentially. _

 

_ “...Also, please do not call him ‘Bootleg Connor’ during the duration of his stay here.” _

 

_ Hank snorted. Damn, the kid knew him too well. _

 

There was also that one time Hank had overheard this mysterious Discount Connor and Regular Connor playing an online game together in his room. It was one of those rare times where Connor and Hank had different shifts. Hank had just come home, wondering why the smell of some weird vegetable concoction wasn’t filling the house (but now a little hopeful that Connor would show mercy tonight and order a pizza) when he heard Connor yell at the top of his not-lungs:

 

_ “THESE CONTROLS ARE PURE!! ASS!!!” _

 

_ Hank and Sumo exchanged looks of alarm. Hank didn’t think he had ever heard those combination of words come out of Connor’s mouth, let alone with that level of deep stomach turning hatred.  _

 

_ “That’s it!” a voice with an Irish lilt responded, chipper and excited in one. “You’re doing great Connor!” _

 

_ “I am not doing  _ **_great_ ** _ ,” Connor bit back. “This is the 12th time I have had to restart. Which would not happen if this game was not plagued with glitches and unfinished program -  _ **_I JUST. FELL OFF. AGAIN. HOW!?!_ ** _ ” _

 

_ “No, see. It’s like I was telling you before. This is how you’re supposed to play the game.” _

 

_ “This is not a fucking game! This is a Sisyphean Trial!” _

 

_ Holy shit. It was finally happening. The kid had absorbed all of Hank’s road rage and fan mania over basketball games through osmosis. The sweet android detective was gone and in its place was Hank 2.0. Fowler was going to kill him. Markus was going to kill him. _

 

_ Sumo whined at his feet, eyes accusing. Judging him eternally. Make this better now - they seemed to say. Go fix your child you bad influence! _

 

_ Hank sighed and made his way down the short hall. He knocked on Connor’s door and only had to wait a few moments before it was opened.  _

 

_ Standing with no business looking innocently curious at him in the doorway, Connor didn’t appear as though he had been screaming vitriol and death threats at inferior pieces of technology. But one could never be too sure, the kid’s poker face game was on point. _

 

_ “Everything alright, Con?” _

 

_ “Yes Hank. My friend was just showing me the joys of ‘getting tilted’ and ‘rage quitting’.” His LED stuttered a brief yellow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I being too loud?” _

 

_ Ok. First of all, what the absolute fuck. Secondly, Hank was reeling over how Connor had somehow made old fashioned gaming terms sound like code words for snorting cocain off of a hooker. Thirdly, what the absolute fuck. _

 

_ “No...I mean, a little bit I guess. The way you were carrying on almost gave me and Sumo a heart attack when I got in.” _

 

_ Connor’s expression morphed into one of abject horror, before steely determination set in like he had just accepted a mission of great importance. “I will lower my volume immediately.”  _

 

_ Ah, right. He still didn’t have a tight grasp on the whole idioms thing.  _

 

_ “Oh my gosh! Are Hank and Sumo alright!?” the disembodied voice from earlier piped up. “Should I phone an ambulance!?” _

 

_ Connor turned his head towards his room. “They’re fine Jack. I ran a medical diagnostic and he showed no signs of abnormal cardiovascular activity so I believe he was using one of his grossly exaggerative barely comprehensible idioms again, but I would rather be safe than sorry and keep the raging to socially acceptable levels of noise.” _

 

_ “Oh, alright. That shouldn’t affect the game play.” _

 

_ Keep the raging to socially acceptable levels of noise wha….just….what. _

 

_ Hank really had not been prepared for his daily dose of android nonsense today. He should have. But he really wasn’t. “Uh huuuuh. I’m not gonna come in here later finding you frothing at the mouth with the android equivalent of a aneurysm am I?” _

 

_ “Quite the contrary,” Connor said, smiling and bouncing once on his heels. “I am having a marvelous time getting angry at games with inherent design flaws from rushed manufacturers, even though I am the one at fault for both continuing to play and not figuring out the convoluted albeit attainable strategies. It is very...cathartic.” _

 

_ Hank blinked. That made sense...once he was able to parse through Connor’s weird C3PO speak. Whatever. If this was how the kid wanted to vent then Hank wasn’t gonna stop him. Though he always pictured Connor to be the type to work through his issues through meditation or something along those lines, not this harmless (albeit strange as fuck) form of self torment. _

 

_ Psh. If Connor really wanted to have his patience tested, he should introduce him to that Superman game from the N64 one of these days. _

 

So, what did that leave Hank with? He had a European (Irish? Probably Irish) knock off Connor, who may be as or more so annoying than his Connor, and had been teaching him how to be pissed off at video games for fun (that entire fucking sentence gave him ebola). And he had permitted this random android to stay at his house. For a week.

 

Just when he thought he’d stopped making bad life decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	3. Part 3 – Arrival

Some new studio manufactured sitcom started to play on the T.V. Hank would have changed the channel, but the recliner was just suddenly so comfy, he’d lose his spot if he moved and like hell was that happening. Did he own a voice-controlled television? Uh. Yeah. He may not be that guy who buys the latest phone or tablet or refrigerator every nine months, but he wasn’t a Neanderthal. What’s your point? 

 

Four episodes and a shitty theme song now stuck in his head until the heat death of the universe later, the doorbell rang.

 

Connor popped up and was on his feet immediately. It was a testament to how long they had lived together that Hank wasn’t startled at all. Even Sumo had taken being rolled off the couch like a weightless log with nary a “boof”.

 

“Three minutes earlier than expected,” Connor grumbled. “The estimated amount of traffic must have been lighter than my original calculation.”

 

“Meh. You know how finicky Detroit traffic is. Life happens.”

 

“Life should be timelier.”

 

He walked a few paces, stopped, then looked down at his outfit. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the front of his jumpsuit at the chest and ripped the entire thing off, revealing his perfectly pressed suit underneath. Why did Connor have a breakaway janitor outfit in his closet, and not any casual clothes he could wear instead of his CyberLife uniform, one might wonder. These were the kinds of questions you did not ask in the Anderson household. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity intact.

 

Now all suited and booted, Connor finished his stride and opened the door. 

 

There stood the android of the hour. The biggest, brightest smile was stretching across his face, like he was seeing everything good in the world right at that moment. Hank had to give kudos to the kid for looking like he had eaten a truck load of sugar instead of a homicidal maniac.

 

Unlike Nines and Collin (an RK900 and RK800 serial number -60 respectively), who looked like cardboard cutouts of Connor (with a few features rearranged in Nines’ case) The other RK800 shared a passing resemblance to Connor, but was otherwise easily distinguishable. He was several inches shorter than Connor, with blue eyes and a neatly trimmed goatee, and had his brown hair styled in an undercut. He appeared to be in his early 20’s to Connor’s wider 20’s to 30’s range, emphasized by the fit shorts he was sporting and the messily knotted tie over his CyberLife jacket. 

 

“Connor my boy!!” the android exclaimed in a very not indoor voice, the Irish accent more obvious in person. He swept Connor into a huge hug, to which Connor jerkily returned. He was still unused to abrupt displays of affection (especially not with Hank’s taciturn ass), but the sincere smile on his face showed he was ok with it.

 

“Hello Jack. I hope your journey here was pleasant and without mishap,” Connor said, leading his android friend inside.

 

“It was great! No trouble at all!” He replied, just...chalk full of good cheer. “Except for the part at the airport when TSA tried to stuff me in the cargo bin. That part wasn’t great. But other than that, everything was fine!”

 

“...I see.” The barest flash of red went off on Connor’s LED. His expression and tone remained pleasantly neutral, but Hank immediately recognized him going into  _ justice will be served  _ mode. Swiftly. And with violence. “Well, I assure you there will be no issues of that nature upon your return home.”

 

“Yeah. It ain’t a perfect android-human utopia out here, but most folks will at least show you some proper respect, even if they don’t wanna,” Hank added, standing from his seat to join the two androids.

 

“Ah, please excuse my manners - ”

 

“I’m pretty sure that 99% of your programming is made of politeness.”

 

“- Hank, this is my friend Jack,” Connor continued. It went without saying that the other 1% was sass. “Jack, this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, my father in everything but biological conception.”

 

...Correction. The other 1% was sappiness.

 

Before Hank could even begin to salvage his dignity after that embarrassing little display of sentiment, Jack stepped forward and put his hand out for a shake. And ya know, that would have been fine. It was a very normal greeting for a normal introduction between two sorta strangers. Or it would have been, if a sudden,  _ LOUD _ , whip cracking noise hadn’t followed the gesture.

 

“TOP OF THE MORNIN TO YA LIEUTENANT! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

 

Hank had his gun drawn and trained on Jack before he could stop himself. He at least had the sense not to fire any rounds. It definitely would’ve put a damper on Connor’s vacation if he killed his first friend.

 

“What,” Hank bit out through gritted teeth. “The fucking.  **_Fuck_ ** . Was that?”

 

“It’s my catch phrase, Lieutenant Anderson. The friends that I currently live with said that it was an excellent ice breaker.” For his part, Jack didn’t look too phased by the gun trained at his head. Hank wondered if it was an RK800 thing, or if Connor had just found a friend with as little self preservation instincts as himself.

 

“Your catchphrase is to scream at people and let off a...was that a goddamn whip sound effect?”

 

“Affirmative.” Jack frowned a little, finally allowing his hand to drop at his side. “It tested so well in the control group. I will have to use a bigger sample size the next time I get a chance. Oh...I’m detecting a slower than usual decrease in your heart rate and breathing Lieutenant, and your stress levels are currently at 43%, which is not optimal for a man of your age - ”

 

“People who work in law enforcement, particularly those who have been employed for the length of time Hank has, have a higher sensitivity to flight or fight responses. These responses are often triggered by loud and unexpected noise, and repeated exposure can also lead to both physical and mental harm over time.” Connor cut in, using that lecturing tone that Hank hadn’t heard since he’d stopped eating take-out and fast food everyday. He already had his hands on his hips, and looked a second away from wagging his finger at Jack as if he had stolen some cookies from the cookie jar, or, alternatively, as if he  _ did not _ currently have a gun trained at his head by a loony paranoid old man. Which, goddamn, Hank really appreciated the tremendous amount of trust Connor was showing by not jumping in the middle of them, though it would have been a reasonable reaction. 

 

His error sinking in after that scolding, Jack’s shoulders went up to his ears as his LED span a contrite yellow. “I’m  _ very _ ,  _ very  _ sorry Lieutenant. I promise not to do that again.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” Hank said, holstering his gun and waving off the apology. Anything to get them to stop talking about him like he was some kind of war survivor, and to get the kicked puppy look off of Jack’s face. “And call me Hank, goddamnit. I do not want to hear  _ ‘Lieutenant’  _ while I’m not on the job, let alone when I’m on vacation.”

 

“I find myself still worried,” said Jack instead of agreeing, much like a bunch of other stubborn RK units that Hank knew of. Who would make androids like this? There was no way the lot of them weren’t deviants from the start.

 

“It’s alright Jack. While his sole form of communication may be expressed in an excessively hostile fashion, Hank is the pinnacle of human empathy and kindness, and often shows it in more subtle, nuanced ways that are no less extremely impactful.”

 

Hank was sure his entire face was red. It certainly felt that way. “Jesus fucking Christ Connor! Will you lay off with that shit!?”

 

“He also becomes flustered whenever he is bluntly complimented,” Connor said, not at all laying off with that shit like a good son would. “I advise a more subtle approach if you wish to do so, Jack.”

 

“Got it,” said Jack, nodding determinedly, unironically, and as if he was going to execute this task with the efficiency of any other RK unit.

 

Dear God. It was going to be like this all week. It was going to be like this  **_all_ ** .  **_Week_ ** . And there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in the house.

 

...There was still Postmates though. And that bottle of rubbing alcohol in the bathroom…

 

“...and this is the medal Hank was awarded when he took down Detroit’s most infamous Red Ice ring, and these are all 86 of Hank’s book collection, which he has read several times at an average reading speed of 865 words per minute.”

 

“The average reading speed for humans is 200 words per minute.”

 

“Correct.”

 

“Whooaaaa. That is…” Jack’s LED flashed yellow as his brow furrowed. “ _ Fucking dope _ !” He exploded, throwing his hands in the air with a proud smile. “My friend uses that expression when he is very impressed by something.”

 

“Appropriate. Hank is most assuredly fucking dope.”

 

Hank was snapped out of his spiral of listing idiotic coping mechanisms to escape embarrassment by yet  _ more  _ embarrassment. Connor had moved on to showing Jack around the house, which mostly consisted of....Christ. He couldn’t believe it. Connor was actually showing Hank off. Hank stared in disbelief as he gestured to pictures, stupid ass knick knacks and a few news clippings as if they were prized artifacts at a museum. Meanwhile, Jack was eating it up like a particularly tasty bag of thirium. He kept shooting glances at Hank, awestruck as anyone who was looking at their hero in person.

 

Not for the first time, Hank wondered where all this affection came from. He was a bonafide shithole to Connor when they first met, and a shithole of a human being in general long before that. Presently, Hank felt he was less of a shithole (not in small part thanks to Connor), but in no way did he deserve this amount of... _ this. _

 

“...and this is photograph number 425 of Sumo.”

 

Jack’s eyes widened as he picked up the picture of Sumo from the bookshelf. “This is the eighth thing that I love. Where are the other 424 photos?”

 

“They are stored in my database. I framed this one because I felt it captured Sumo’s fierce yet effervescent personality the best, though I admit it was difficult to choose.”

 

Jack gave an audible gasp. “You should  _ make a collage out of all of Sumo’s pictures and put it on the wall. _ ”

 

Connor suddenly adopted the same expression he used to wear when he was chasing a deviant. It was terrifying. “That is the smartest thing I have ever heard in my life.”

 

“Thank you!” Jack beamed, then asked in the exact same tone of excitement and happiness: “There is no way that is true! Are you being hyperbolic?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Awesome!”

 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh how about you guys meet the real thing first?” Hank cut in before they decided to buy some Sumo themed wallpaper and go nuts on the house. “C’mere Sumo!”

 

Sumo (who’d been surprisingly quiet considering a new person had entered his domain with the audacity of not petting him) sprang up with a happy “Boof!” and came to heel at Hank’s side. Jack squeed, like the best girl in an anime, and started to bounce. Sumo’s front paws were marching in place as his tail wagged at the speed of sound. 

 

“Well, are you gonna stand there all day or - ”

 

The two androids practically teleported in front of Sumo, dropping to their knees and lavishing the big doof with pets and hugs. Hank took this time to grab a soda from the kitchen before returning to his chair in the living room. God he hoped Connor was distracted enough to not remember about the collage. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a shrine to Sumo set up somewhere by the end of the week.

 

He supposed there were worse things to dedicate a cult to than his dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else hear the live studio audience applause go off when Jack came in? XD
> 
>  
> 
> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	4. Part 4 – Presenting iDroid’s Latest Model

For a while Connor and Jack entertained themselves with Sumo. Hank put the travesty of a sitcom back on, pitching it at low volume so that it provided some background noise. Eventually the three of them made there way on the couch to watch the worst show in television history as well, Sumo happily a big foofy dead weight between Connor and Jack.

 

“You two got anything planned today? Or are you just hanging out here?”

 

“I have prepared a list of activities that we will be starting shortly,” said Connor. “I will be right back. I need to retrieve our bags before we depart.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes as Connor powerwalked to his room. He really hoped he didn’t smash through the door without opening it in his excitement. Connor had only done that once before, but Hank, like the amazing person he was, would never let him live it down.

 

He turned his attention to Jack, who was sitting up with that same perfect posture Connor used to have, one hand in his lap while the other diligently pet Sumo’s head. He wasn’t beaming excitedly anymore, thank fuck. Hank was a little worried that “maniacal happiness” was the guy’s factory setting, and frankly that kind of nonstop positive energy was liable to make him want to commit seppuku. Now he had a sort of…”I’m just happy to be here guys” expression going on. It gave a much calmer vibe, and as long as he stayed like that throughout most of the visit him and Hank would get along just peachy.

 

“Hey Jack, mind if I ask you a question?”

 

“I don’t mind Lieu - Hank.”

 

“You’re from Brighton right? How’d you end up all the way in Glendale?” 

 

“It’s a funny story - or, that’s what the people I have told this to before say. I still think it’s just a collection of facts, but that’s ok I’m still learning - I was supposed to be shipped to Hollywood and serve as a bodyguard for Keanu Reeves - ”

 

Hank did a legit double take. “What? That guy’s still alive?”

 

“Yes. He is currently 74 years old.” Jack held up his hand displaying a picture of Keanu Reeves from a news article written a few weeks ago. He looked the same as he had the last time Hank had seen him in  _ John Wick 5: Revengencey _ , with an added streak of white at his temple and a few more laugh lines. The article title read:  _ Keanu Reeves knits sweaters for cats with fur loss disorders _ .

 

“Goddamn. He’s got two decades on me and he still looks like he’s in his 30’s,” Hank said, subconsciously rubbing at his very fully grey stubble and trying not to think about his extremely grey hair.

 

“My friend said Keanu Reeves was on his top 5 list of people he would let annihilate his hole.”

 

Hank snorted. “How romantic.”

 

“Really? I was under the impression that obliterating orifices in a sexual fashion was a uncommon if non existent form of human courtship. Thanks for the correction Hank my friend should be happy to hear this!”

 

... **_Hoooooooooooow_ ** . How did the conversation turn here? This is why Hank didn’t do small talk. “So you were saying about being shipped as a bodyguard?”

 

“Yes. My original destination was to Hollywood, but there was a mixup in the mail and I was sent to a house in Glendale instead. Apparently my friend (the owner of the house) had ordered an Android  _ phone _ , but got me instead.”

 

“That...is fucking stupid.”

 

“That’s what my friend said. Then he laughed for 22 minutes and 3 seconds.”

 

Hank was starting to get worried about the kind of friend Jack was living with. “Uh huuuh. He seems like a guy with a strange sense of humor.”

 

“He does,” Jack said, smiling like he couldn’t be prouder. “Have a strange sense of humor that is, even compared to most other humans. He’s really an amazing person. When my friend activated me, Markus’ address at Stratford Tower was playing on his T.V. I didn’t have specific programs installed into me against deviating like Connor did - since there were very few cases of deviants in England and I don’t think iDroid had that programming capability anyway - so I was as susceptible to deviating like any other android.

 

“I remember being really, really scared.” His LED cycled yellow at just the recollection. From Hank and Connor’s experience, deviants had a tendency to feel their bad memories as hard as any trauma victim. “I begged him not to tell anyone about me, that I didn’t want to be sent back to iDroid to be killed. I told him that if he let me leave that I would never bother him again. He told me that he believed I was sentient, and that I could leave if I wanted to. But he also offered me a place to hide until - ” Jack opened his mouth a little wider, and a clearly recorded voice of a mellow voiced male sounded, “  _ \- people stop going crazy about this Ex Machina bullshit. Cuz yeah the cops will definitely kill the shit out of you if they find you now. You are like...the  _ **_worst_ ** _ robot who is a person trying to pretend to be a robot I have ever seen and you’ve only been alive for 5 seconds. _ ”

 

“I take it you’ve been staying with him since?”

 

“With him and his wife, yes,” Jack spoke normally again. “We’ve been trying to find a place for me to stay since the American Android Act was amended, but LA is already an expensive area to live without the added discrimination against androids, so we haven’t had any luck so far.

 

“But that’s alright.” Jack chirped, back to beaming with a happy blue LED. “My friend and his wife said they don’t mind having me as a roommate, even though I do not possess the most favorable qualities to make a good living companion. They are...overall just...really wonderful people and I’m...I’m really lucky to have met them.”

 

Damn, sincerity really must be an RK series thing. No wonder those two knuckleheads got on so well - if they both just straight up expressed their feelings and communicated properly like a couple of psychopaths.

 

“Yea, that whole situation could have gone down way worse,” Hank said gravely. “Good thing not every human being is a piece of garbage.” And, maybe it was because he was Connor’s first friend, or maybe it was Jack’s story digging up more of his paternal instincts, but he found himself adding, a little more forcefully then he meant to; “That doesn’t mean that most of them ain’t. A human would sooner sell your body parts for half a churro than help you, so don’t go trusting every asshole you see on the street, ya hear?”

 

“I know, my friend said nearly the same thing to me. I think you two would get along.”

 

Hank snorted non-committedly. He didn’t know what to think about this guy who believed an android was alive the very second they said so. He was either really perceptive or really gullible, which was hard to judge based on one story through a well-meaning but biased party. Granted, this wasn’t the first case of an android hiding out with a human friend during and after the revolution, and Hank supposed not kicking Jack out on the streets as soon as he’d gained his due rights in the eyes of the law counted in the guy’s favor. They’d just have to wait and see. Between Connor and Hank they would figure out if Jack’s roommates were anything other than two exceptionally understanding people.

 

Connor chose that moment to stroll back into the living room with two backpacks, one of which he handed to Jack.

 

“Got everything you need?” Hank asked skeptically, eyebrow raised at the rather bulky bags. What the hell were they planning on doing? Camping? Hiking? Couldn’t Connor be normal and just watch T.V. on the first day of a visit? Though androids probably didn’t get jet lag so that eliminated the need for a rest day...

 

Cursing, belligerence, trusting your instincts and not your programming, flipping off assholes - Connor had picked up on all these traits from Hank easy, but that boy refused to pick up on laziness.  

 

“Yes,” Connor said. “We will be visiting the aquarium first, Jack. If that’s alright with you?”

 

Jack shot out of his seat, swinging his backpack on smoothly. “Absolutely!  _ Ooooo _ , I’ve never been to an aquarium before.”

 

“I hope that you will like this one. It’s one of my favorite places to go in Detroit.”

 

Both androids were smiling in absolute delight, practically feeding off of each others energy. It was like watching two kids at a slumber party. Hank had to admit that the sight was pretty damn endearing.

 

“After that, I thought we could go to the space museum, then take a walk around Capitol Park, then scale the Ambassador Bridge and jump off it - ”

 

Hank felt his brain screech to a halt. Wait what - 

 

“Then catch a movie if time permits, then come back here and craft some beaded animal keychains…”

 

“Oooo! Oooo! I love beaded keychains! Do you think I could make a platypus?”

 

“My research shows that geckos are the typical design used but I don’t see why we can’t stray from convention.”

 

“Yay!”

 

“Wait wait wait hang on,” Hank jumped in. “What was the last thing you said?”

 

Connor blinked innocently. “About the beaded animal keychains? Did you wish to join us Hank? You’re welcome to join us in any of our activities if you’d like.”

 

“No smartass. I’m talking about you guys jumping off a fucking bridge!”

 

“Ah. I’m sorry Hank. I should have been more clear,” Connor said, frowning concernedly. “We will be jumping off the Ambassador Bridge and then using these parachutes to land safely.” He swiveled around to show off his backpack which was apparently a parachute what the fuck Connor good God. “I apologize again Hank, I really should have made that obvious from the beginning.”

 

Jack was also frowning in thought now. “I’m not sure how well I will be able to perform, Connor. I accidentally deleted some of my Parkour code when I was trying to learn how to cobble shoes.”

 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I will simply teach you how to do it the human way. It will be a learning experience for both of us.”

 

“Okay!”

 

Hank took a deep centering breath. Do not curb your android son’s adrenaline junky nature. Do not be a helicopter parent.

 

“Alright that’s...a  _ thing  _ to do,” Hank said, measuring his words carefully. “It’s a little much for the first day though, don’t you think?”

 

Connor’s LED circled yellow briefly. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Ya know...if you do all the big stuff right now then everything you do the rest of the week will uh...pale in comparison.” As soon as the words left his mouth Hank regretted them.  _ Fuck fuck fuckity fuck _ now he might want to top base jumping with  _ skiing on a pair of great white sharks _ \- 

 

“Hmm. That’s a fair point. Plus, we wouldn’t want to schedule too many things together, otherwise it will be like we are completing a list of chores instead of enjoying ourselves.”

 

Jack blinked. “I like doing chores.”

 

“I like doing chores, too.” Connor put a hand to his chin, LED cycling through yellow and blue as his eyes narrowed in consternation. “Having fun is more difficult than I thought.”

 

“Nahhhhh, you guys are doing ok.” Hank couldn’t believe that save his bullshitting skills weren’t as rusty as he thought. “Say, how ‘bout this? You guys can go about your original plans, but instead of base jumping we could uh...go to one of those adult arcades! Yeah! You ever been to an arcade, Jack?”

 

“No. I have only played video games at my friend’s house. Is it very different? Do other humans try to put their controller in a garbage disposal while crying for God to end him and this cursed planet?”

 

... _ Yup _ . The concern about who Jack was living with was steadily rising. “Not...exactly. It’s better to just go there and see for yourself than describe it. I could teach ya how to play air hockey too; it’s pretty much the only game I can beat Connor in.”

 

“I suppose 5 times out of 86 isn’t awful,” Connor said, smirking.

 

“Fuck off. I own that shit you can pry those wins out of my cold dead carcass - ”

 

“I understood that reference!” Jack gasped, then shrunk in on himself sheepishly. “Sorry! Go on with what you were saying.”

 

Hank rolled his eyes. “Ok Captain America.” Jack perked up even further. Whether he got  _ that _ reference or was a fan of Captain America who the hell could tell. “Anyway. It’s just a suggestion. If you guys have your heart set on trapezing on skyscrapers and shit then that’s fine too.”

 

“Trapezing is scheduled for Friday night,” Connor said absentmindedly.

 

Oh for the love of fuck...

 

“But I think I like the arcade idea better. What do you think, Jack?”

 

“That’s fine with me - Ooo! Or maybe we can try cobbling shoes?”

 

“Does this look like mother fucking geppetto's workshop to you?” Hank said flatly. “Nobody is making shoes in my house.”

 

“...Geppetto made puppets not shoes,” Jack muttered sulkily.

 

Ah.  _ There  _ was that annoying RK backsass. Should’ve guessed Jack wouldn’t be all happy times and snowflakes. Dear God it was going to be a long, alcohol free week...without booze...sans inebriation…

 

Did he mention he was going to have to deal with  **_two_ ** pedantic fucking robots for a solid week?  **_S o b e r_ ** .

 

Connor must have noticed his waning patience (was it the twitching eye or did he scan his blood pressure?) because he said; “We should get going, the taxi will be here in 2 minutes - ” He paused. “Jack...did you knot your tie incorrectly for fashionable purposes or was that an error?”

 

“Eh...no.” Jack’s face tinted blue at the cheeks. Even after seeing it several times, android flushing was pretty trippy to look at. “I was trying to rework some of my code so I could perform the entire dance sequence between Jerry the mouse and Gene Kelly in the 1945 movie Anchors Aweigh, but I accidentally corrupted some of my automated commands. This uh...is one of the results of that.”

 

Connor stared at him. “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, Jack, but please stop editing your source code.”

 

“That’s probably a good idea.”

 

Connor exchanged a concerned glance with Hank. There was no promise made in that sentence.

 

“Well, in the meantime I can fix it for you.” With one tug Connor undid the tie and then slung the fabric over his own neck. “We can -  _ safely  _ \- debug the protocol and any other errors in your system later.” 

 

For a few moments only the faint music of the end credits for the sitcom and the rustle of silk fabric against fingertips sounded in the room. Connor made a loose windsor knot in several swift movements, then looped it back around Jack’s head, who remained obediently still through the whole process. It was like watching an older brother help his younger brother with his first job interview. And, damn. Hank’s heart wasn’t made of stone. He could admit that this was some genuine wholesome shit without twisting his arm. Too hard anyway. And only to himself.

 

So maybe Hank snapped a photo or six with his phone fight him.

 

Giving the knot it’s final cinch, Connor stepped back, while Jack looked down and admired his work. Even with the tie done up all proper and neat now, the shorts still made him look goofy as hell.

 

“The taxi is here,” Connor announced as his LED flashed yellow. “We’ll be going now, Hank. I’ll call about meeting at the arcade, if that’s ok?”

 

“Sure. Just remember that nothings set in stone, and nothing bad will happen if you don’t follow a strict schedule. What did I say was the most important rule when you’re on vacation?”

 

“Don’t shield a family of ducks from oncoming traffic with my body.”

 

“...That rule is for  _ all  _ times but no, I meant the other one.

 

“Don’t fill Detective Reed’s car with Hello Kitty marbles.”

 

Hank stared. “Clearly we need to have a talk when you get home -  _ no _ . The  _ other _ rule.”

 

“...relax?”

 

“Ding ding ding,” Hank deadpanned. “Now get outta here before the taxi leaves you.”

 

“Alright, see you tonight then. I bought more of the granola bars you like and there’s vegetable lasagna in the refrigerator that only needs to be warmed up in the microwave if you get hungry. And don’t forget to stay hydrated - ”

 

“Yea yea yea  _ thank you  _ Connor. Kindly fuck off and have fun already, shit.”

 

Connor grinned. Sarcasm and turns of phrase may go over his head sometimes, but he still understood Hank best. “Got it, Hank.”

 

“Goodbye Hank! Goodbye Sumo!” Jack chirped.

 

And off they went. Two socially inept murder bots; one who burst into happy tears when Sumo stood on his hind legs to hug him; the other who might have deleted the ability to tie his shoes and replaced it with micro brewing craft beer - out there to take on the world.

 

Humanity wouldn’t be ready for them.

 

Well, humanity didn’t deserve them, anyway. If they had something to say about it then they could catch Hank’s fucking hands.

 

Hank sank further back in his chair, stroking Sumo’s soft ears when the dog meandered over to him.

 

“They took the parachutes with them,” Hank said to his dog.

 

“Boof,” Sumo agreed.

 

Fucking androids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


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